Skin
by Clone Roses
Summary: Finnick Odair hates Skin, and no one understands...The 65th Hunger Games, from the Gong to the Final Cannon.


**CHAPTER ONE: CORPSES**

The boy's hand flails everywhere in an attempt to grab something. A screaming voice distracts him though and he ends up clunking his hand into a glass of mustardy yellow liquid. Finnick heard some grumbling then his sister's voice asking,

"What broke?" Finnick's face was screwed up and he didn't want to answer, or open his eyes. If he did, this would be real. He distinctly remembered everyone talking about what a terrible arena there would be this year, for Null Randasmith (the Head Gamemaker) ranted about how these Games would be special during the Annual Pre-Game interviews. And he knew no one was Volunteering that year, because no excited mutters were heard, nobody ran around screeching about how so and so would be getting sent to their untimely death. Finnick's name was in the bowl 12 times, a lot for a child of District 4. "Finnick, get up now! You need to get ready for the Reapings." Burgundy Odair flung open the flimsy door of the Bedroom she and Finnick shared, and Finnick peered out the window to look at the waves. The Odair boat was...cosy, to say the least. Finnick loved it however much Burgundy moaned and complained about how it looked. There were a measly 3 room on the ship (the bedroom being the biggest, the bathroom being the smallest) and Finnick and Burgundy were pretty much forced to do everything in their beds seen as the room up top was often soaked by waves. Only on the mildest summer days could they go up top, otherwise they would only go up there to set course for District 4. The cold wooden floors were covered with scruffy navy carpets and the shelves were filled with trinkets and brightly coloured books.

"What can I wear?" Burgundy tutted and grabbed a cloth from god knows where to clean up the glass from the floor.

"There are some clothes drying up top. We've docked in at District 4." Finnick nodded. They could never sail too far, for thousands of miles surrounding District 4 there were Peacekeepers, waiting for people who try to escape their cruel lives in Panem. Finnick scrunched up his face, and climbed up the short wooden ladder to the top deck, though his eyes were still stuck together with yellowy-green gunk. He found a pair of grey shorts and a dark red shirt. Good enough.

"Finnick! C'mon hurry up; I need to do your hair!" Burgundy's head was sticking out of the teensy rectangular hole in the middle of the boat. There wasn't much room up top, and he quickly grabbed everything off the washing line, buttoning the shirt up as he sideways shuffled to give Burgundy some room. Burgundy was pretty, with bronze skin and green eyes a shade lighter than Finnick. Her hair was silky and brown, falling onto her shoulders in waves. Finnick was...okay looking. Not that he gave a shit. But he knew his sister had plenty of admirers and would probably be married soon. Burgundy was only 19, but young marriages were common in District 4. Finnick knew he would soon be married off, and most likely not for love, but for the money of a girl richer than him.

"Look, are you gonna watch me get underwear on?" Finnick asked, glaring at Burgundy. She smiled, and said,

"I was the one that got you those boxer shorts. They're your fancy ones. They're black with a blue band and labelled 'C.C' meaning Capitol couture. And I definitely know what your junk looks like." Finnick's face burnt like a brand, and he jumped down to his room so he could get changed. Burgundy snorted, yelling something along the lines of 'Prude!' down at Finnick. And for some odd reason, as Finnick slipped on his grey shorts, he wondered how awkward it must have been for Burgundy to lose her virginity, knowing her little brother was sleeping right next to her. She thought he didn't hear. Oh how he heard, loud and clear.

He shudders at the memory.

"Finn, we're here!" Finnick nudged his small wooden bed, as it had lurched forward when they came to a sudden stop. After putting on some lime green sandals Finnick jumps off the side of the worn out boat. Some random guy grins at Finnick, and Burgundy goes a little pink. Finnick rolls his eyes and runs forward; he sees some kids from school up ahead and sprints toward them.

"Hey." He says to no one in particular. Another girl in the crowd of teens headed for the square runs up to Finnick. Her hair is light brown, clinging to her head, refusing to be long and similar to the other females.

"Hello, Finnick." Finnick merely frowns and walks away from the tall girl, who earns a couple of glares from his friends, though most of the older kids grin and slap her on the back. "I'm Volunteering this year." she blurts out. Her pupils dilate and she throws her head back, as though annoyed at herself for not keeping it as a surprise. She's met with cheers and loud _whoops_. Finnick doesn't know what to say to the daughter of his Parent's killers.

"Congratulations. You're heading for your inevitable death, Thira. Well done. I didn't think anyone would be dumb enough to volunteer this year. But here you are behind me. Well done." Despite Finnick's words, Thira stays as cool as possible, her dark aqua eyes showing no regret.

_She never shows regret, just like her parents, _Finnick reminds himself. When Burgundy approaches Finnick and pulls her fingers through his floppy, knotted hair, Finnick pushes her off.

"Finn, what's wrong?" Finnick looks back at Thira with a 'Duh!' look on his face.

"My acne's acting up on me again." and Burgundy knows what he means, because Finnick always has acne. Yeah...plus, she's also a good sister, but ignore that part.

* * *

Her hair is short and in a bob, blood red with a white streak in the front. Her eyelashes were red, and her eyes were unnaturally dark, her skin unnaturally pale. The dead starfish in her hair was the only natural part of her. The people aren't scared of her though, they are scared of the two glass bowls that hold hundreds of children's fates.

"New escort," Mino muttered, trying to make for conversation when it really wasn't needed.

"Yeah." Finnick says, and Mino shuts up. Corona Mona, District 4's newest escort, was smiling down at all the children that might be getting chosen for the Games this year. At 18 and 4 months, Corona is the youngest Escort that District 4's ever had. "This one looks young."

"Youngest we've ever 'ad says Mom. Not that I care." The silence begins to sink into everyone. No one wants to speak and no one wants to not speak. Because if they don't they know that someone will be reaped, and they know no one's Volunteering. Deep inside their heads they know that no one's volunteering, no matter how many empty threats have been made. The giggling drags them out of their thoughts.

"Welcome. I am Corona Mona," Finnick had to fight a grin off his face, and Burgundy rolled her eyes in the Adult's section. Corona smiled unsurely but carries on. "District 4's newest Escort! And, at the first stage in my Career, I would just like to say...Happy Hunger Games! And May the Odds be _ever_ in your Favour!" Corona was met with cheers upon cheers. But no cries of Glee came from Finnick Odair, whose head was down and eyes were full of anger. He thought the same as every year, complaining in his head.

Never doing anything. Doing has been the fault of many great people.

"Want to play soccer after this?" Finnick whispers, head down. He wanted to say something, anything, to get livid thoughts out of his head. Minuet nods, but he looks solemn rather than excited. He carries on staring forward, as though he might burst into tears if he meets Finnick's eyes.

"Yeah," Mino gets out; though his voice is about 5 octaves higher than usual "Dad bought me a new ball. Because it's Reaping day. Ya' Know." Whatever Finnick was about to say never got out, for Corona interrupted him, as the Video about the Dark Days had finished. She giggled, stupidly.

"Well," Corona bites her lip, and then goes into a squealing fit, face scrunched up. "It's time! Ladies first, as _always_!" Finnick wrinkles his nose. He hates the Capitol's accent. Finnick allows himself to think, to ignore the suspense. Because he knows who's going to Volunteer, and he doesn't care for her. Why would he?

"Oh my god..." Mino let out three breathy words.

"What?" Finnick said, a little too loudly, and a few people glare at him.

"Marcello Dolet. C'mon, girl. Nothing to be afraid of." The girl's hair is light brown and clipped back from her face. She is tall and strong looking, smiling, because they all smile. Her eyes give her away, she must be terrified. Every year, a girl like this is reaped, and no one thinks anything of it, because another girl always Volunteers.

But Thira doesn't volunteer, and this is no ordinary girl. Her dress is beautiful, it looks to be made of teal coloured silk, it must have costed much more than any normal District 4 resident could afford. The white gold disc lying lifelessly on her chest is obviously new, but even being one of the richer districts, nothing like this is sold in 4, only possible to get if one is a Family heirloom.

This girl isn't ordinary. She's the Mayor's daughter.

"Don't sweat it. Thira's..."

"Definitely not Volunteering," Mino interrupts Finnick, head craning to the right to try and see Thira. "Look." He gulps. Finnick stands on his tip toes, because even though he's tall and stretchy (and gangly limbs and spots. Finnick's the poster child of Puberty) he cannot see through nine hundred teens. Finally he catches a glimpse of Thira. She sits there, lips parted as though she wants to say something.

"No one's Volunteering."

"I noticed." Finnick turned around, and saw in the fifteen year old section a boy with light brown hair, and hazel coloured eyes. Eye's filled with tears. The Mayor's son.

"_Oh_! And who may _this_ be!" Corona grins into the microphone, eyes rolling back into her head, dancing on the spot.

"Marcello Dolet, I'm seventeen." She chokes out. Even Corona falters a little at the second name, but quickly recovers.

"My first ever year, and who may I get? The Mayor's daughter!" Finnick looks down when he hears Geo Dolet cursing from behind him. After a while, when Corona has finished asking about how it is to be going into the Games, Mino tenses and Finnick knows it's time for the boys reaping. But Finnick doesn't care because his mind is still reeling. How are they going to work this out, the Daughter of the Mayor being reaped? Then Mino stops breathing.

How's Finnick going to work this out?

His lips part and he raises his head. He knows he should try to look confident or charming, or be singing with his luck, because Finnick knows that's what they like.

"No! _No_! _Please, someone_! Not Finnick!" The girl hair is flowing in the wind, lovely green eyes wide and full of anger. She's terrified, reaching for her little brother. The Peacekeepers grab her, she flails her hands everywhere. She wants to hurt them, obviously. Burgundy looks like she could kill.

_Guess she's more prepared than me_, thinks Finnick.

"Oh...oh my." Corona smiles, as though this wasn't in the job description. Finnick doesn't know when he got to the top of the stage, staring out at Mino, who had a look of pure shock on his face. "So, Finnick. How old are you?"

"Um...Fourteen." There was a burst of whispers and mutters, the sobs of Burgundy heard over everything else.

"Such a young one too." Corona giggled, while Burgundy screamed profanities that were probably going to be blanked out of the Reapings on the Television (no doubts Burgundy's cries of help would be cut, because the Capitolites don't want to know about the tragedy the Games leave behind.

Such a young one. They would say that about him for so long too. Such a young one. Corona's arm brushes of his arm, and Marcello puts a hand out for him to shake.

Corona's skin is too pale to be natural. And Marcello's is too warm for a corpse.

Because that was what she was...right?


End file.
